Professional Pride
by Natsuki
Summary: Had it not been a "terminally ill drell" Kai Leng faced, but Thane as he was during ME2, the outcome of the Citadel fight might have been rather different. Semi-AU, oneshot. kmeme fill, sans smut.


As with most of my ME3 stuff, this was from the kmeme fill. It doesn't contain smut, however. This was the prompt:

_An AU where Thane's Kepral's was cured and he's very much at the top of his game again. Leng's assault on the Citadel happens and Thane prevents the Councillor's assassination. He and Leng have a go at some badass hand to hand combat. Thane totally whoops Leng's ass. Bonus points if he calls him an "incompetent boy" at some point._

I, er, don't really write action well, but this prompt was really important to me. Thane vs. Kai Leng was gorgeous to watch, but really? Really? Kai Leng is such a smarmy asshole, and not a figure to be feared at all. No class whatsoever. Thane, on the other hand...

Anyway. Forgive my attempt at Thane (as so many have noted, he's /hard/ to write!).

... ... ...

The memories of Dantius Towers linger at the fringes of his mind as he once more shadows Shepard and her companions through the ducts. It is a pleasure to watch her work once more, though now an asari guards her more thoroughly than Miranda ever would have. Thane marks the asari's watchfulness, notes the instinctive glances towards the Commander, and approves.

They hunt for the Salarian councilor. He hunts for anything that might harm Shepard from the same shadows he occupies; there has been an ongoing game of cat-and-mouse between the human Cerberus assassin and himself that would amuse Thane, were it not for the threat he poses to Shepard's goals.

(Shepard herself is hardly under threat from the arrogant whelp; Kai Leng - Thane knows of him, which in and of itself proves the boy's arrogance - is too fond of toying with his intended victims, too involved with his elaborate Cerberus games, to actually harm Shepard. The harm he can do is merely to bystanders: important, but not as vital as Siha.)

He watches Shepard, Garrus, and the asari duck around a flight of stairs, vanishing into the Executor's office. He shifts, waiting, and catches sight of the tell-tale shimmer of a tactical cloak on the office floor below.

Kai Leng, below him on the Citadel's support structure, spots it too: he drops further down as the Salarian Councilor makes the mistake of running into a chair, dropping the cloak and looking around. Thane reaches to the small of his back to pull the heavy pistol free as the boy drops to the floor. He is noisy. Thane's professional pride is further wounded.

The shattering of glass breaks the tableau. There is a standoff. Shepard seems as little-impressed by Kai Leng as Thane himself is, a fact which brings a tiny upturn to the corners of his mouth as he breathes a prayer to Amonkira for swiftness and silence, and drops noiselessly down behind the would-be assassin, bringing the pistol to bear.

A mistake. Too much warning, as Kai Leng rolls away from Thane at the whine of the pistol's Mass Effect field engaging, one hand smacking the barrel away, the other coming up in a guard position. "The act of ending another's life should never be 'fun.'" Thane says, stepping under the other's reach.

His first strikes are tests, deflected harmlessly off to the side but giving him needed information. He sidesteps a glowing palm-strike, feeling his amusement bleed away into further disdain as Kai Leng catches him in a grapple and does not take advantage of it. Thane rolls with the throw, the pistol already tracking the human's movement, two shots fired, one creasing a cloaked figure. To his credit, the whelp does not react audibly, and makes the most of his cloak, but Thane can smell the metallic stench of blood. An amateur's mistake, to linger so, or an arrogant one. First blood: his.

He listens, too, for the rasp of diamond-edged steel: Kai Leng draws his sword as he shimmers into visibility and charges, trying to close to a point where his weapon can come into play. Thane sweeps under it, bringing the pistol up to deflect the blow and send Kai Leng spinning. Two kicks, one to the stomach, one to the chin, and a biotic throw sends the human crashing into a desk, limp and still. He has never learned to fall, or to use his own momentum to keep his feet. "Incompetent boy," Thane says softly.

There is a very Turian hiss of amusement from behind him that Thane ignores.

The *shink* of steel upon the Citadel's floors is the next sound. Thane levels the pistol, the weight of it solid in his hand, and fires with the intent of making Kai Leng waste energy deflecting the bullets.

He does.

Thane steps beneath the whelp's swing, letting it slide off the pistol once again. The swiftness with which Kai Leng reverses the sword is almost a surprise. Thane accepts the bite of it through his bicep as his due for inattention, but it is too late for his opponent. The wet *crunch* of his hand striking the (oddly unarmored) larynx is followed by two heavy steps backwards.

Two shots. One head, one heart. Thane turns to face his Siha, the Cerberus assassin at his feet. The light of the Presidium is too bright for sunrise; it is not Dantius Towers, and his soul is already in the hands of the woman standing before him: he does not pray for it to be washed clean. Her presence is blessing enough.


End file.
